


you held me together (i used to burst and decay)

by Simpliicity



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Boners, But shut up it's Falcon sex just embrace it, Cunnilingus, F/M, Good Boy Ben Solo, I Reject JarJar Abrams' Reality and Replace it With My Own, Is it also because Erica is an amazing writer and I physically cannot get our babies out of my head, Is this just an excuse for me to write Falcon sex, No TRoS Spoilers, Redeemed Ben Solo, Rey Is Always Right, This is based on our RP plot so shit is kinda Fucky in regards to other characters, mentions of han/leia, very yes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22141630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simpliicity/pseuds/Simpliicity
Summary: Rey is always right. Ben, ever his father's son, is slow on the uptake, but he gets there eventually.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 8
Kudos: 96





	you held me together (i used to burst and decay)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raindropwaltz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raindropwaltz/gifts).



> goddamn you look holy // hit from behind with light // you're a painting of a saint // and i'm nervous, stumbling over my lines
> 
> title and summary from you in january - the wonder years.
> 
> -
> 
> @raindropwaltz, you are the most inspiring RP partner I could have ever hoped to find, and you've become one of my favorite people over the 2+ years we've known each other. Thank you for being my first foray into the character that helped me fall in love with writing again. Thank you for helping me fall in love with a franchise I've loved since I was a little kid. Thank you for your shitposts, your endless CORRECT opinions on why TRoS can suck a fat one, and for being you.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this bullshit excuse to write them just STRAIGHT up fuckin'.
> 
> This is the very first one-shot I've ever written, so I hope you all enjoy it. I am also taking ideas for little things I could write - I'm open to writing canon as well as AU, though Ben will always be BEN, even if it is deep down.

The durasteel holding the slim bunk off the floor of the Falcon was cold against his back, the sharp contrast in temperature from his body filled of nervous energy evident even through the thick fabric of his sweater. It was silent in the small room, the little cubby built off the main hall that Han had built for Leia when they’d married, his legs barely able to stretch fully out before hitting the closed door.

“You’re taking the bed,” he’d insisted as soon as they’d entered, slumping to the floor before she had a chance to argue with him, though she’d tried even as he crumpled against the bunk in one fluid motion.

“The hell I am,” she responded, flopping to the floor next to him, sheer spite keeping her propped up without allowing her torso to be supported by the bunk—or by him, as they’d been upon boarding. If she leaned against him then, they’d both fall asleep partially sitting up, and they’d wake shivering with pains in their back, a counterproductive state to be in considering they didn’t know what they were walking into. Things were still so new after they’d faced Luke—after they’d _defied_ him, Ben being circled by his uncle like prey while looking like a predator ready to pounce—and though they’d marked their next destination, they didn’t know what they’d find. Leia had known he was on his way to her, that he would be meeting Luke on Ahch-To with little doubt considering the inherited Skywalker luck, but he wasn’t sure if she’d heard word of the confrontation. He hadn’t offered it up, and unless Luke had broken his silence and contacted her, she was likely in the dark and even more likely not to pursue them for it, but with her concerned, he couldn’t be too careful.

Ben sighed, tipping his head back to rest at least part of him on the elevated, plush surface, black waves fanning out slightly. “Just _take the bunk_ ,” he implored, voice monotone and clearly reflecting his exhaustion.

“ _No_ ,” she argued, bending her knees to plant her feet further on the floor—only to find herself swiftly upended by the Force, flung into the air, though quickly stabilized and gently placed upon the only bunk without a chance to react. As much as she wanted to continue arguing with him, the bunk _was_ comfortable, and felt like heaven on her exhausted muscles; he smirked with satisfaction as he felt, through their bond, some of her discomfort leave her, though her irritation skyrocketed.

Shifting to the edge of it, her lithe form melded to the very edge, the point where plush pillowtop met durasteel, and she propped her chin on his shoulder. He stilled, not daring to turn his head towards her; they’d been closer, but this felt so much more _intimate_ , with their faces nearly touching— _would_ be touching if it weren’t for him having so much damned hair—in the marital space of his parents, something he was happy to have out of his mind for once, since it only had room to focus on _her_.

He had grown used to her presence since their bond had materialized, but until he had sought her out on Ahch-To, he hadn’t _felt_ her—minus the brief intermissions where they’d connected through the Force in the hut, which felt longer ago than he’d care to admit—and with all the boundaries they’d pushed since revisiting the planet together, he’d never felt her like _this_. She shifted to lay on her stomach, her knees bent against the wall next to the bunk with her toes pointing skyward, one hand underneath her chin to blunt the weight of it on his shoulder and the other next to her face, rubbing the muscle where his shoulder met his arm in gentle circles.

Every time her fingers drifted and grazed his collarbone, he felt himself clenching his jaw a little bit tighter.

A few moments of silence passed, and while they usually allowed themselves to dwell in _comfortable_ silence, that moment’s was anything but. The argument was finished in Ben’s mind, his head already relaxing back with his eyes nearly closed, ready for sleep, but Rey was clearly set on not allowing it to die.

“You could come up here with me,” she offered tentatively, her hand skating dangerously close to the collar of his borrowed shirt; he bit back a growl at the near-feel of her skin on his. “We could share. I don’t take up much space.”

“But _I_ do,” he replied matter-of-factly, gesturing to his body with the hand that wasn’t drifting up to trail his fingers along the inside of her wrist, their hands moving in a lazy unison. “I don’t even know if I’d fit in that bunk, let alone with you.”

“Can’t hurt to try,” she responded, sitting up suddenly to frame his shoulders with her hands, skirting downwards as though she was going to _physically_ lift him to the bed, when all she accomplished was causing his muscles to go rigid. The shirt, borrowed from his father’s storage, was a size-and-a-half too small, and clung tightly to his skin; her hands on the fabric surely felt like her hands on _him_ , and that knowledge was enough to still any movement he would have made if he wanted to. Once his body regained the ability, his first movement was to dart his hands out to grab her wrists, his touch slightly forceful this time, and hold them in place an inch from his body. Turning his head towards her, his teeth still grit, he met her eyes and she raised her eyebrows slightly, then quirked one further, questioning him.

With a sigh, he realized he likely wasn’t going to win against her—he needed to learn that in the first place, he knew, considering that wasn’t going to change anytime soon, if ever—and he slowly, _slowly_ , let go of her wrists and turned towards her, bringing himself up on his knees then standing in front of her. With more caution than he’d approached anything recently—he thinks more than he’s ever used in his whole life—he began to arrange his limbs on the bunk before settling uneasily onto his side, his body pressed against the wall and his feet comically hanging off the edge.

Rey, pleased, grinned and started to settle in, before propping herself up again, her nose scrunched. “You’re not going to be able to sleep in those,” she told him haughtily, pointing at the denim-like pants he’d stolen, also from Han. “ _I’m_ not going to be able to sleep with that scratchy fabric against me,” she continued quickly, clarifying her words—if they weren’t the full truth, that wasn’t _her_ fault that he didn’t detect it.

His face colored, the blush spreading across his face to his ears and dipping below his collar, making Rey wonder just how far down it went. Her hand almost reached out to trail down the open space between the top few buttons, unable to fasten due to the size discrepancy—even the ones that he _had_ managed to do up seemed to be straining—but she managed to stop herself, instead standing again to give him space.

“You’ll just have to put up with it,” he mumbled, attempting to dissuade her, but when she crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to one foot, one hip cocking out, he sighed again and moved to undo the button fly. His hands stilled after it was left hanging open, a smirk playing across his face even as the blush refused to disappear.

Folding his arms behind his head, he looked up at her, one eyebrow quirked to mirror her earlier expression of a challenge. “If I’m not allowed my modesty—” Rey snorted and rolled her eyes, “—then neither are you,” he finished. _Surely,_ she wouldn’t—

Oh, but she would.

In one swift movement, Rey had shed her outer robes, leaving her in her breast bindings and undergarments, her hair slightly mussed from the action of pulling the fabric over her head. With baby hairs standing out at all ends, a staticky mess, she glared at him as she struggled not to cover herself. She was too _tired_ to argue with him, too tired to attempt to explain herself as he found a million other ways to run around and avoid it, and she just wanted him to _shut up_ and wrap his arms around her. It was the comfort she knew she needed—and suspected he did as well, but wasn’t allowing himself for some reason—and what Rey wanted, Rey would stop at nothing to get.

They were too alike in that way, he decided, and he knew it would be his doom.

Swallowing hard, he willed the pants to hide the growing bulge in his front, but he knew as soon as a slight semblance of a blush graced her face that that had failed. It wouldn’t have worked well if he kept the pants _on_ , to be fair. With them just barely pulled up around his hips to begin with, they left nothing to the imagination, the faint outline of him visible as soon as he was anything but fully soft—with her in his presence, that was more of a rare occasion than any other state. If she wasn’t going to let her insecurities get the best of her, though, he owed it to her to put himself in the same mindset, fake as it might have been. With just as much urgency as she’d shown, he lifted his hips and yanked the trousers down, kicking them off the edge with feet still hanging over the edge of the too-small bunk and doing a half-crunch to reach behind himself and yank the shirt over his head as well. The cool, manufactured air of the Falcon hit him and made him shudder, though the fact that she was closing the distance between herself and the bunk likely had more to do with that than the temperature.

Where she’d been all bravado just seconds before, the gravity of the situation seemed to hit her as she bent, her knees firmly placed on the top of the bunk as she studied him, both appreciating the sight before her and attempting to calculate how to make best use of the space. In the end, he had settled on his back, one arm half-off the bed that would have hung down if he hadn’t wrapped it around her shoulders, his hand weaved in her hair to hold her head in place where it rested on his chest. One of her legs had hooked around his, their stomachs touching, her left hip _just_ to the side of where he both desperately wanted her to be and desperately wanted her to be _far from_. He had little hope for his self-control if she shifted, so he did his best to keep still, reaching down the wall with his free hand to dim the lights to a frequency suitable for sleep.

While her body was exhausted, sleep was the furthest thing from Rey’s mind.

He was too preoccupied with keeping himself _decent_ —he couldn’t have been more transparent, though he’d seemed to have forgotten _everything_ , including the fact that she could _see his thoughts_ —that he didn’t realize her ulterior motives. She couldn’t see his eyes, but they were trained on the ceiling, barely blinking as he ran through everything he could think of to quell his burgeoning erection.

 _The fact that we’re in my parents’ bed right now. Nope, didn’t work. C3PO trying to give me the sex talk. Nope, didn’t work. Poe fucking Dameron. Fuck. Even_ that _didn’t work?_

Eventually, he settled on trying to run down ship parts in his head, causing Rey to stifle a giggle. He’d gotten the order of the photon coils wrong; if he attempted to assemble them like _that_ , they’d explode in his hand, the dummy. She pursed her lips together to keep herself silent, forcing her breathing to deepen to make him think she’d fallen asleep.

So preoccupied, he was, that he didn’t think to check to see if she really _was_ sleeping, so happy for the chance to slightly shift his body without the risk of her feeling him that he recklessly did so—and she’d anticipated it, timing her move for the exact same moment. When his hips tilted, so did hers—causing her bare thigh to hitch and brush directly against the underside of his half-hard cock. Hissing, he immediately settled back to his previous position, but the damage had been done; the knowledge that it had been _her skin_ that touched him through the thin fabric of his tight underwear had instantly made his blood rush due south. When he felt her smirk against his skin, he stilled; she’d _planned_ that, the little minx, and worse, she was _enjoying it_.

“You’re not asleep, are you?” he mumbled, his voice barely audible even in the tiny room, but she heard him. She always heard him, whether he spoke aloud or not.

“Uh-uh,” she hummed to answer him in the negative, repeating her movement, which only caused his hand not wrapped around her shoulders to dart down and grab it roughly, jerking it back down to stop the delicious friction.

“ _Rey_ ,” he groaned, equal parts a warning and an adoration, both telling her to stop and commanding her to continue. “You don’t want to—”

But before he could finish his sentence, her smirk widened to a grin, and her hand trailed down his chest, over his stomach—his abdominal muscles clenched as he hissed in a breath through his teeth—and, both thankfully and sadly, avoiding his groin to rest on top of his own hand on her thigh, her fingers gently removing his before lacing with his own. “I _do_ want to,” she argued, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You—I—” He couldn’t function, could barely form _those_ words; a full sentence was out of the question, and since he couldn’t protest, she took his lack of all but shoving her away as permission to continue. After all, if he _really_ wanted to stop her, she knew he could; if his body wasn’t cooperating, the Force would manifest and show her, there would be _some sign_ that wasn’t him opening his eyes and tilting his head up to stare reverently at her before he remembered how to move his limbs. His hand left her hair to put one finger underneath her chin, firmly tilting her face up to claim her lips in a kiss.

It was tentative at first, little more than pecks as they separated and came back together, him always pausing before extending forward again, whereas she _chased_ him. It was symbolic, he supposed; he’d always been reluctant—reluctant to leave Snoke, reluctant to face his past, reluctant to see the _light in him_ —and she’d always been dauntless, throwing herself fully into whatever she deemed worthy of her time. For some reason, in that moment, it was _him_ , and that knowledge gave him the confidence to surge forward, materializing in a passionate embrace. It was nothing like their previous kisses, no shreds of innocence remaining, as lips met, teeth clashed, and tongues battled for dominance, only ending when he broke to rearrange them. He’d attempted to flip them so he could trail kisses down her exposed neck, but she’d challenged him again, darting out from underneath him to hook his leg and push him on his back again.

He was about to repeat his motion, determined to have her pushed into the mattress and _squirming_ for him, when she found purchase, her calves caging his thighs as she ground herself down on him, one simple movement stopping his world.

“ _Rey_ ,” he repeated, this time a growl, starting low in his throat and sounding positively _dangerous_. Instead of preparing to reverse them, one hand roughly gripped her hips as the other cupped the back of her neck, pulling her down to kiss him again. Though she controlled their position, it was evident he had momentarily taken control by the way he kissed her, his teeth nipping just the good side of too hard at her bottom lip as she attempted to pull away, his hand surely leaving fingerprint bruises on her skin from how hard he clutched her to him.

She took the opportunity to roll her hips again, making him rut up to meet her, and he used a light grip on her hair to pull her back so he could speak. “You’re torture. The sweetest kind of torture,” he breathed, his tone dripping with awe. “If you want to stop, you have to tell me now. Please stop me.”

 _Please don’t_.

She laughed—the sound was melodic at a normal time, but with her on top of him and the vibrations adding to the sensations that were already overwhelming, it _consumed_ him—and touched her nose to his, her eyes meeting his in the dim light. She kissed him once there, on the tip of his nose, before falling off him. He felt disappointment grip his chest, already calculating how he was going to escape and work himself to a shockingly easy orgasm when she reappeared between his legs, gently nudging them apart as her fingers hooked in his underwear waistband.

He propped himself up on his elbows, not able to do much more than stare at her; he opened his mouth a few times to attempt to speak, but words failed him even more than usual, so he simply laid and watched her as she shucked the garment off, dropping them on the floor before tentatively reaching out to wrap a hand around the middle of him. After a few slow, learning strokes, she dipped her head down as though to taste him, and he jerked a shaky hand out to grab her hair again. She looked up at him in panic, thinking for a fleeting second that he was about to shove her head down like she’d seen that spacer do to a woman in Jakku behind a trading post when they’d thought no one was looking, but she quickly righted her thoughts.

 _Ben would never do that to me_. (He would, someday in the future, but only after she’d _begged_ , grasping his hand in hers and placing it firmly on the back of her head as she’d wrapped her lips around him, leaving no room for argument.)

Instead, he pulled her away, his grimace stretched to the point of looking pained. “Sweetheart, I would _love_ to—please don’t think I wouldn’t—but this night will be over far too fast if we do.”

It was Rey’s turn to blush and look away, secretly pleased at causing so much of a reaction in him, pleased at being the one to arouse him to the point that he’d come at the mere _touch_ of her lips to his cock, pleased to be there with him in general. After allowing himself a moment to gather himself, though his erection didn’t calm in the slightest, he sat up, gently pulling her by the hand and kissing her again, not pulling away until she had taken his position on the crudely assembled bed.

With a snap of his wrist, the breast bindings were undone in the back, and he unwound them from her with stern concentration, letting the fabric fall with her undergarments, the last bit of cloth separating them gone. Up until that point, things had come so naturally to him, but as he settled in above her, reverting to kissing considering it was the one thing he _did_ seem to know how to do, if her reactions were any cue, he realized how woefully unprepared he was. He’d never done this, never done what they’d _already_ done let alone more, and his panic began to slow his movements until she pushed her own inexperience back at him over their bond.

_You’re not alone._

_Neither are you._

Spurred on, he held himself up with one arm, the other hand gently cupping one breast before swiping the pad of his thumb over her nipple. When her back bowed and she arched into his touch, when she gasped against his mouth and pitched her hips towards him, he could feel his confidence rush back tenfold, and he left her lips to shower the other breast in attention with his lips, his tongue, his teeth for the slightest of seconds before he soothed it with a kiss.

He would be content to stay there all night, he thought, just exploring her upper body with a fervor he hadn’t held for _anything_ but her, but _she_ wasn’t; she grabbed one of his wrists and trailed it down her body, letting go of it once it rested on her inner thigh. Raising his head to meet her eyes, he held their gaze for a moment, a final request for permission before breeching lines that, if crossed, he didn’t know if they could turn back from. When she nodded and ran a hand through his messy hair, when she whispered “please” as though there was nothing she could want more—there _wasn’t_ , and she made sure he knew it—he nipped playfully at her inner thigh before licking a flat stripe up her, diving in before he could talk himself out of it.

She even _tasted_ sweet.

One testing lick became two, and then three, and then he swirled his tongue around the bead at the top of her and _preened_ as she yelped, her free hand fisting in the sheet next to her legs as her head fell back against the pillow. It took experimentation—when she stilled, letting out only happy sighs and murmurs, he took a different course of action, alternating from tracing her with his tongue to flatting it, to entering her with his tongue and then with his fingers, but when he’d worked her up to accepting two of his digits at the same time, curling them in time with latching on her clit and _sucking_ —he was thankful the small cubby was soundproofed, a tidbit of knowledge he wasn’t sure _how_ he knew, but it was as true as the scream he ripped from her throat.

“Oh, Ben, please, Ben, _oh_ ,” Rey babbled as he hooked one arm under one of her thighs to hold it to him, the other thrown across her hips to keep her in place, his ring finger joining his first two to stretch her further, to prepare her for him—though if he thought he’d be happy situated between her breasts before, he _knew_ he’d be happy remaining between her thighs. The noises she made, the way she arched and bowed under his ministrations, the way she said his _name_ —if she never touched him again, he could die happy.

The sighs and moans soon became stifled yelps and the occasional quick, cut-off scream, and he quickened his pace to match her intensity. Latching his lips onto the spot that drove her crazy, his tongue flitted across it in quick strokes as his fingers curled inside her, and the hand that had wound its way into his waves _clutched_ him as she spasmed, sent over the edge with a wail of his name that he’d immortalize in his mind forever. He withdrew her fingers once the clenching slowed, pressing a few more feather-light kisses between her legs before resting his cheek on one of her thighs, her knees bent after her legs had cemented him in place during her peak. Her chest rising and falling rapidly, she only took a moment to gather her breath before she nudged him upwards.

He started to turn to lay on his side, but she reached out to stop him. “Don’t you dare,” she warned him, instead guiding him on top of her again, stretching once he was remotely within reach to grasp him once again. He’d been thankful he’d been partially on the floor while going down on her; he hadn’t had a comfortable surface to rut into, and therefore he hadn’t made a mess of himself while he made a mess of her. He was cold to the touch from being pressed against the durasteel, but coaxing strokes from her hand warmed him and called him fully to attention, his cock brushing her entrance as he sunk down to kiss her. It was filthy, her juices from his chin rubbing against hers, the taste of her on his tongue which she found she didn’t mind as much as she’d thought she would. Without another word, she guided him to her, scooting down on the mattress enough to allow the tip to enter her.

It was all the hint he needed.

Pushing forward, little by little, both for her benefit and his own, he sunk on his elbows above her, only holding himself up enough not to crush her. Gently, her hands caged his face, fingertips just brushing his hairline above his ears as she held him there in a tender kiss, encouraging him into her until he felt her hot, wet heat on every inch of him. He _felt_ her pain through the bond, and he winced and tried to pull away, but she stopped him, keeping his lips moving against hers by firmly holding his face in place; he felt as it slowly subsided, mingling with his pleasure until he wasn’t sure which of it belonged to her and which of it was his.

When he was certain he wouldn’t hurt her further, he slid out until he almost fell out of her before repeating the motion, just as slow as the first, not picking up the pace even slightly until she lifted her legs, her knees at his ribcage, and he felt his thrust go even deeper. He groaned against her lips, hearing her beg him _faster, more, please Ben please I need you to move;_ he’d always been powerless to disobey her, and with him sheathed inside her, he found that truer than ever. His speed increased, the new angle allowing him to go deeper, their sloppy kissing never ending until she brought one lithe, toned leg between them. He took the hint and grabbed her calf, propping her heel on his shoulder, dropping it in place before gripping at her ass. The leverage helped, and he soon let one foot fall to the floor to further brace himself. The slow thrusts of their first contact were no more; the bruises on her hip from earlier would surely be mirrored by similar ones on her ass, his other arm braced against the wall to keep himself from losing his balance and falling; she ran one hand down her stomach to lazily circle her clit while the other loosely gripped Ben’s thigh, enjoying the way his muscles flexed underneath her fingertips.

“Rey, _fuck_ , sweetheart, you feel so fucking good I’m not going to last,” he choked out from above her, laughing breathlessly in apology.

“Ben, please, I’m right—I’m right there, I’m with you, let go,” she begged, increasing her hand’s speed as his thrusts went ragged, the rhythm lost as he seated himself fully within her. His cock pulsed as he spilled inside her, his mouth open in a silent moan as his hair fell into his eyes, his head bent and his eyes focused on _Rey_ —it was as though he exited his body and was watching her face flush and her eyes close, her jaw going slack as she cried out again, hushed squeals of “Ben, Ben, Ben” somehow reaching him in the stratosphere.

He didn’t want to come back down, but coming back down meant coming back to _Rey_ , meant collapsing on his side next to her as he pulled out of her with a filthy squelch, his cum leaking onto the sheets beneath her as he buried his head in the crook of her neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses on her sweaty skin as their breathing regulated, feeding off one another to stabilize them.

It was her that spoke first, but that came as no surprise to either of them. “You want to try and tell me again that I _don’t want to_?” she teased him, idly playing with his hair as he laughed against her skin.

“Trust me, sweetheart. I’ve learned by now that you’re always right.”

It was about time that he learned.

-

When Leia found out they’d christened the Falcon as they landed at the Resistance base months later—he didn’t know _how_ she knew and he didn’t _want_ to; they’d cleaned the ship from top to bottom, even stopped on Murakam for their extra-strong-scented orchids and left them in the cubby for _days_ —she chuckled and shook her head, turning to Rey as Ben hung back in the doorway, redder than he’d been that night. “Took his father and I three days to break it in. At your pace, I’ll have grandkids by storm season on Naboo,” she stated with a mischievous grin.

That was _it_ , Ben decided. He’d heard enough, turning on his heel and stalking off, muttering something about Leia being crazy under his breath.

“I heard that,” she called threateningly as he departed, leaving her and Rey to put their heads together and giggle. While the statement had _terrified_ her for a brief second—had terrified her her whole life, even before she’d met Ben—she caught a flash of a dark-haired, tan-skinned, hazel-eyed figure coming only up to her knees, one she projected to Ben through their bond. When she found herself met with the same panic, then the same pleasantness that had spread through her, she allowed herself to think that maybe _Leia_ always being right wasn’t half bad.


End file.
